“We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started, and know the place for the first time.” T.S. Eliot ‘Little Gidding’ (Four Quartets)
I Was Me
In my dream
we launched the Major Tom
and thrust through painted skies
hung with unknown stars,
like Theramania and Volsatus,
with exotic faces
and rarefied air,
a luminous melange
with exciting possibilities,
even as we landed,
I knew that I was me
and you were you,
and that’s how it should be,
that’s how it is.
Of moons it is merely of colour, but of attraction it is mystery, where the symphony of pulse, a scherzo, strangely warms and excites, energising, drawing, urging, and only when we are spent does blood finally slow, and once again we return to earth.
Note: In astronomy terms the zenith is a location point directly above you.
“Filled with rapture his soul yearned for freedom, space, vastness.Over him the heavenly dome, full of quiet, shining stars, hung boundlessly … The silence of the earth seemed to merge with the silence of the heavens and the mystery of the earth touched the mystery of the stars.” Fyodor Dostoevsky
The Indescribable Point
We reached for the indescribable point,
having left our anchored ordinary,
entering time without time,
and losing the rails of thought,
yet we knew a knowing,
as our bodies spoke an urgency,
to meet above ourselves,
and fall into luxurious abandon,
washed in desire.
My mother, and many others, often used that phrase, “It must be a full moon tonight” to explain various odd behaviours which seemed to occur around a full moon. There are lots of urban myths and tall tales, along with superstition, associated with a full moon. In Europe in the Middle Ages the belief persisted in the “lunar lunacy effect” or “Transylvania effect” where at a full moon humans could change/transmogrify into werewolves or vampires. Luna was the the Roman goddess of the moon, and Luna forms the prefix for the word lunatic.
Shakespeare wrote: “It is the very error of the moon. She comes more near the earth than she was wont. And makes men mad.” Othello
Under The Lunacy Moon
Just a little transmogrify,
I’m feeling pleasantly odd,
a little unhinged,
please, let me bite you,
a taste so sweet;
my veins are boiling,
let’s run through the streets,
sing anthems and rhymes,
climb a mountain
and howl a rabid canine tune.
Just this one night,
under the lunacy moon.
As I left the pub,
brimful of expectancy
I looked up, and,
as I sometimes do,
I nodded in deference to the stars,
a toast to the sentient beings beyond my ken.
And I reached up and grabbed a handful of mystery
so sparkly, light, and effervescent.
And it occurred to me,
that there’s nothing better in all the world,
than a pocket full of stars for my true love.
Beedelup Falls, Pemberton. For me the bush is exhilarating, it refreshes and restores me. This is my true chapel.
La Capella (The Chapel)
those familiar smells
of this hallowed place.
Myrtles form your vaulted ceiling
which resounds with the chant of my praise.
While your aisles are damp, meandering paths
through open woodland,
and at its center
your altar of rugged granite.
And yet, there is no intended sacrifice
save that which surrenders itself for another.
Sunrise and sunset are your stained glass,
an ever changing story of light and life.
Ravens, your gargoyles, guard the narthex,
announcing every entrance,
for everyone is called to this sacred space,
a sanctuary of wonder and delight.
This chapel of life-breath and beauty,
a sublime offering,
Another Wattle (Acacia) taken at Manea Reserve, the blossom is always so rich and golden, like miniature suns. Acacia carries a multitude of meanings, including; purity, fortitude, renewal, eternity and love.
After an aeternus
Helios landed with a thud
showering sparks across the land.
It must be so, because
the trees are ablaze,
golden with fire so bright
I averted my eyes, for
I could not hold your gaze.
You possessed me,
devoured my senses.
Son of Zeus and Danae,
sacker of cities, warrior,
hero by heart,
White Tiger of the West.
When Danae was threatened
you feted Polydectes with the head of Medusa,
And later, long before Heracles,
you rescued Andromeda from Cetus.
Many are your deeds,
and, though Homer was tight lipped,
at least Ptolemy gave you a place
after you had gone to the nothern skies.
There your light so shines,
a constellation of hope,
keeping company with your beloved,
lover of good.
Henbury Meteorite Conservation reserve, in the Northern Territory. One of twelve craters left by a meteorite 4,700 years ago. We found it a great place to explore. Scientists continue to investigate the particles and debris from the meteorite found here.
The silence is eerie,
only a sliver of light
as I carefully crack the door ajar.
No footmarks or fingerprints,
no signs of forced entry.
I open the door,
aha, just as I’d thought,
Someone’s abducted my custard tart.